


Bullets Rip to the Sound of the Beat (Look Out!)

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1980s, Affectionate Insults, Alternate Universe - Western, Art, Band Fic, Banter, Crack, Crying, Drinking, Epic Friendship, Freddie tells a story, Friendship/Love, Gen, Historical References, Insecurity, Inspired by Music, Light Angst, Mystery Stories, Not sure I'm explaining this well, POV First Person, Smoking, Song: Another One Bites The Dust, Sort of an au in story sense but set in the actual eighties, Story within a Story, Swearing, Sweet sensitive Brian, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: "Tumbleweeds blew across the patches of grass in front of him. He knew he was heading somewhere, but it was a place he couldn't see. His ten-gallon hat felt too heavy for his head. 'Surely no one wants the bloody dentist out here...' he thought. But someone for certain needed their teeth rearranged.""Even itching for a fight in the world of an American Western," Brian murmurs, John giggling next to him. "Classic. Why am I not surprised?""Whoah, no. Wait, I shouldn't even HAVE to fight, those bastards shot at ME! What the fuck, Freddie?""...Are you going to throw a tantrum, darling, or can I continue the story?"(Or, Freddie's drawing some costume concepts after Queen's completion of The Game. They are about to go on tour again, and time had together, to just themselves, is hard to find of late.So when John tells him about his initial rendition of 'Another One Bites The Dust' dealing with cowboys, Fred's imagination is taken and runs away with him gladly...Or, well. Mostly so.)Written for Freddie Mercury Weekend 2020!
Relationships: John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 23
Collections: Freddie Mercury Weekend 2020!





	1. Ride the Range All the Day

_His blood is up and burning, as it has been since the start in this new country. Everything is new, metallic behemoths rise into the sky, that his boon companion had spoken of enough as to be nearly nonsensical, yet as people spread their wings and learn and grow to be heroes, he cannot pretend he doesn't feel the fire of furious progress._

__

__

_Or perhaps it's only fury, as he came out West to make his fortune, mum and sister behind. Hoping to find a place for himself paying well enough to send some coinage back to them. Another one bites the dust and another one gone. Got to get away from his father - 'That Taylor's a mean drunk,' people say but with a soft tone, the words running deeper than those typically thrown tauntingly at those who can't hold their liquor. Got so this Taylor became good in a fight, with words as well as fists. When he came West folks took to calling him the dentist; he's got his own blinding smile that he employs adeptly, causing all the lasses to swoon. But his given name is -_

***

"Come off it, Freddie," my dearest Blondie is heatedly interjecting "just because this is some madcap operatic film thing you're doing, doesn't mean you've got to include anything from my life! I swear if you fucking call him Roger Taylor -"

"... What's wrong with that name, darling?" I look up from my sketchbook, flipping it round to show him "Look, I've even done you up in those lovely tight chaps and a perfectly fringed leather jacket. Brian's got a vest, and I gave Deacy his ten-gallon hat." John beams as I flip to his page, and sweet Brimi appears flustered by the gloriously coloured pantaloons his own likeness wears. "Those are dyed clay beads, love," I say. "You've been amongst the Hopi Indian tribe and learnt about beadwork and stars from them. As a matter of fact, the people did a rain dance for you and gave these trousers as a gift when you left."

"Oh, come off it!" Roger flings out an arm, protesting even as Brian shoots his head up and comes over to me from across the kitchen, handing mugs of tea around. He appears interested. "See, that's something!"

"- are these beads configured in star patterns, Fred?" Brian asks.

"Why yes," I pat his cheek smartly. "Aren't you a clever boy. They stitched the constellations just for you, as you adore them so." Brian smiles, that delighted expression I love so much to see, long teeth catching the flesh of his lower lip fleetingly.

"I love it, Fred," he whispers to me. "I love it, so inventive." Leaning over my shoulder to take a look at my other sketches, he asks "Aren't you going to tell us what Rogie's real name is?"

"You git!" Our drummer snaps as John lets out a giggle. "If you give me-"

***

_\--His given name is Threepenny Taylor, because that was all the money to his parents' name when he was born._

***

"You're fucking kidding," Roger cries as the other two roar with laughter.

"Now that is genius," John snickers, entire face crinkling with mirth.

"Ah, go on, Fred!" Bri guffaws.

"...I hate you all," Roger grumbles as he throws himself into a chair, settling in with a show of pouty reluctance. "... I'd better be the best bloody gunfighter in the whole goddamn American west at this rate."

I smile into my teacup.

***

_But of course he was also the best fighter he knew. Has been out west a little while, and earns his keep in multitudes of ways that make money - a fair portion of which he sends back home, sweet and loyal son._

***

"Damn right," Roger lifts his mug to me, having gotten a cup and pulls it away from Brian as our dear guitarist tries to add sugar in. "Piss off, let me," and "Cheers, Fred," he tells me now.

"Oh, so you're a bloody hero and NOW you're alright with this idea," Brian says.

Rog clicks his tongue and points a finger at him. "You're brilliant you are, Brian. Should call him Bri the Brain!" He cackles, leaning back in his chair and bulging bright eyes precedes it going too far and flinging him back onto the floor. John breaks up laughing as well as both Bri and I reach out with worried sounds.

Brian blurts "Roger-"

"Ugh," our little drummer boy rubs his bum and glowers up at all of us. Luckily he'd put his teacup down an instant before falling. "I'm just going to stay down here. Shut it, Deacy," he takes a swipe at John, who is still laughing, nudging Roger with his leg. "Just wait til Fred has YOU show up!"

"...Oh Deacy is who this whole idea came from," I say. 

Roger's eyes narrow and sparkle with mounting mischief. "Oh, really?" John's laughs have petered out, he looks a trifle nervous. I reach over and pat his hand.

"Don't worry, love. I just remembered that your original iteration of Another One Bites the Dust was about cowboys. Wasn't it?"

It's our bass boy's turn to flush, and Roger is smirking. "Well go on then, in this mad old Western romp, how do I meet John and Bri? Or you for that matter, Fred?"

I smile and flutter my lashes coyly. "Well, you know that Bri has been with the Hopi, and I am just a musical prostitute, my dear."

There's a beat of silence before the light of understanding dawns on three faces. Roger waggles his eyebrows, John laughs, and Brian turns bright red.

"Oh, no. Goodness, Fred..."

"C'mon, mate, what -"

I wave at them to hush and keep on with the story.

***

_And so, Threepenny --_

\- Call me Twa, like French, Freddie. 'S the most French I know, Dom will be impressed. And since I'm 'the dentist' lemme at least have some sort of nickname, c'mon.  
\- Fair enough, darling. 

_Twa, to his friends, one of whom he met when this dear man was passing through town after schooling himself amongst the native peoples of the area. A man, it was said, whose high curls held secrets dark as the night his hair resembled, secrets of the universe, perhaps; and whose abilities rivalled those of thinkers past and present. If Galileo Galleli had this man's way with words, he could have convinced the entire church of the existence of science separate from, yet not antithetical to faith, for humanity still stretches, still learns even as it cannot understand. And -_

***

"And I see this poor sod pontificating in the pub and buy him a drink some night, because he needs one if he's gonna chat like that," Roger's teeth flash in a bright grin as he lifts his current drink to Brian, whose cheeks colour at my words in combination with Roger's. I stroke dear Brimi's lean cheek with the backs of my fingers as our Rog continues "...then I'm off to find myself a girl."

Brian snorts. "'Course you are, even in fiction, Roger."

"Not surprised at all," John murmurs, and Roger winks dramatically at all of us even as he makes an obscene gesture.

I cock a satirical eyebrow at him, lips trembling over my teeth in mirth. 

"Whatever happened to wanting this ... characterisation NOT to resemble you in name or in action, Roger darling?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings my loves! This is based (loosely) on an amalgam of prompts for the Freddie Mercury POV challenge happening this weekend
> 
> *John Deacon said in an interview that his initial iteration of 'Another One Bites The Dust' was, in fact, about cowboys and heck, I just had to test my Freddie voice on that. 
> 
> This is an odd one in style, so please do tell me if it's difficult to read in any way, or if you have any other comments <3


	2. Til the First Fading Light

_This doesn't end the most fortuitous way for him, as the girl he romances already has a man, who shows up and forcibly helps Threepenny through a window -_

\- Did she tell me to come a little bit closer, that I'm her kind of man? I know that song too, you cheeky bastard.  
\- Well nyeh nyeh, good for you. 

_Our Galileo fellow goes out and helps Taylor to his feet, having ducked out of the way of the crashing window in time but feeling some sort of responsibility for the man who'd gotten him a drink and then was tossed out before he could pay, with a coat full of dust and a glass cut under his eye._

___\- Genius._  
\- Shut it, Deacy! Well go on, they start walking, don't they? And I'm sure Bri freaks over my face...  
\- It'd be better than me not giving a single fuck about you bleeding, Roger!  
\- Whoah, you know this isn't actually happening, Brian. I'm alright, mate.  
\- Yes, well, I can all-too-easily see you going through a window, Rog.  
\- Oh come on! Really? Fred --  
\- Hush and let me tell you what happens, Roger darling. 

_In the evening chill there are so many stars, a multitude that shine white-silver and bloom in brightness that makes the ground show bright with stark onyx shadows. Ochre and charcoal intermixed with the brightest saffron-golden light of our Threepenny's hair, and a ruddy red spark of a cigarette end flares up too._

__***_ _

__"Lookit, smokes as much as you actually do, Roger," Brian murmurs._ _

__"Atta man, go on, Twa!"_ _

__"I honestly can't believe you actually offered that name, Rogie. It's ridiculous."_ _

__"Oh sod off, Brian - what's your name, eh?"_ _

__"Mine? I'm, I don't," Brian is flustered and sweet John pats his arm gently._ _

__"It's alright, we'll figure this, Bri. What made you draw out this story now, Freddie?" John asks me, laughing it seems nervously. "I mean, erm, apart from my abysmal cowboy song attempt."_ _

__"You been talking to Elton, Fred? Or Bernie, more like, he's the one who's got a thing for cowboys."_ _

__I laugh. "Oh, just think of this as a creative exercise, dears." Though my heart speeds up as I do, in fact, wonder if this idea is in fact too strange. Are my boys truly enjoying it at all, or simply humouring freaky Freddie as he finally goes too far...?_ _

__But I feel Roger's warm arm nudge against mine as he's shifted over on the floor to lean himself against me in my seat. John shifts his chair closer and smiles. Brian verbally encourages me "Go on, Freddie. You can name my - counterpart, if you like. I just want to know what happens next."_ _

__"Really?" I look up with my heart in my face. Oh, does he truly enjoy this? His gaze is warm and gentle and his teeth catch on his lower lip in a sweet smile again as he nods to me, responding soft._ _

__"Really."_ _

__***_ _

_Right. They spend time under the stars, walking together after the taller thanks for the drink, and begins to speak of the cosmos in excitement, of what is known and unknown. Of the music of the spheres, and music on Earth - 'Nothing can capture emotion quite like a song,' Star-Eyes says._

\- HANG on, Star Eyes? 

_That is what the Hopi called him when he lived amongst them, and he tells this name to Taylor, who snorts and blows smoke and asks if he's got another name, then._

_'My other name is rather boring, I'm afraid.'_

_Another snort. 'Well my name's Threepenny, mate, so I doubt you'll get something worse than that!'_

_'Well alright, it's -'_

***

"Hang on, shut it a second," Roger is waving his arms around. "I think we should keep Brian's name a secret, for some mystery, like. What's his name, who knows? I want to invest myself," he deadpans.

"Oh that's what's going to keep you invested, Rog?"

"Shut up." Blowing a smoke ring, he causes Brian to cough and wave the cloud away. "Sorry Bri," our drummer smirks, not at all contrite.

"What I would like to know," Brian retorts, "is what on this good green earth got me to befriend such a ridiculous person in this little tale you've woven, Freddie."

Roger's expressive eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, it's like that, is it? Well what's the reason, Fred? Can't be my, what's it, shooting skills or fantastic personality," he chuckles.

"Nor his incredible humility," Brian tosses off.

Roger shakes his fist and transfers "Cheeky thankless bastard, you'd be so boring if we weren't friends," to Brian, and I watch the pair of them with my heart practically bursting from affection. Brian, concerned he'd actually offended Roger for the briefest moment, leans in and down a bit, but Rog only rolls his eyes and ruffles Brian's hair lovingly. 

Patting his curls down, Bri gestures one long hand for me to continue the story, his shoulders relaxing. And I relax too, settle a bit in my seat, relieved that they want to hear - John is leaning in, squinty-eyed with concentration, and Roger is nodding and tapping his cigarette along to my words as he leans his warm strong back against my legs.


	3. Me With My Western Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to the darker sides of the West below, the evils of manifest destiny, particularly on Native Americans

_These two unlikely companions are incited to remain so by the appearance of a Ranger of the Texas variety, who appears and calls on Taylor in response to his riotous exit from the pub. And fires a shot as an obscene gesture is flashed his way. Star-Eyes pushes the other out of the way as he says 'My last name is May, and, oh - duck !' he pushes the other out of the path of the bullet, earning a wound himself. 'ergh - why on Earth would you taunt him like that?'_

_'Fucking wanker!' the shorter spits. 'comes after me when I got thrown through the window! Run!' he exhorts his taller companion, shapely legs pumping to take him out of the centre of town. He grabs May by the sleeve and runs into the section of more urbane additions to town, the buildings that expand as western folks' minds and hearts so do._

***

"Is it really the time for philosophical comments, Freddie?" Roger demands. "I was just blooming shot at, and -"

"Brian got hit," John says. "let's hope this alternative you knows some first aid, Roger."

"...it must be called the wild west for a reason," murmurs Brian.

"Right. Everyone gets shot at."

"Another one bites the dust, right?"

"At least you haven't, dear. I wouldn't do that," I've started drawing a picture of Brian in western garb grabbing Roger by the scruff of his neck, however. This has taken my imagination; perhaps because we're going out on tour and have so little time to ourselves, it feels as if we're in some sort of wild roundabout world, a place like a dream, where time slips away. So different from the place that we began.

"I haven't snuffed it YET, but I feel pretty bloody targeted," Roger puffs on his cigarette. I figure it isn't worth much to mention that this isn't him, not really. Not now he's gotten so invested, it's actually quite sweet. "Bet plenty of blokes got with birds they oughtn't. Isn't that how the west was won?"

Silence and then "What the hell, Roger?!" Brian blurts out loudly.

"Piss off, I know some history!"

"That's quite a dark turn, my darling," I tap my pencil on the edge of the table. "I'm appalled you'd even suggest it."

"Is this not the American West?" Roger asks. "I mean, fuck, not from me, I just know there were bastards out there who were routing the Indian tribes back then, and other things - the Ranger should go after them, not us!"

Brian's eyes have grown wide and wet and horrified. "D'you mean to say that my friends and teachers, the Hopi, you called them? Could be run off their land and, and the women -" he doesn't finish the sentence, but we've all grown somber.

"That actually happened, Brimi darling."

"Americans thought they were destined to expand west," John speaks in that gentle matter-of-fact way he has, mobile face incredibly serious, almost sad. "Called it Manifest Destiny, and did actually rout a lot of peoples, erm. Captured, killed, ran them off their lands... The West wasn't perfect by any means."

"...And various other unmentionable, despicable things occurred as well." I suck at my teeth, looking to Brian as he makes a distressed sound, something between a whimper and a sob. I take his hand, folding my fingers over top and rubbing circles on his pale skin. "Oh, I never wanted to go into that ugly side, darling," I say. "This was supposed to be a fun story."

"... Until I fucked it up," Roger clears his throat, blinks apologetically. "So we can have a bit where we help the - the Hopi, Bri." Roger pats Brian's long leg and looks at him earnestly, leaning into our dear sensitive guitarist with his touch. "You can do that, right a couple wrongs of history, can't you, Freddie?" He twists to look up at me with those cornflower eyes.

I look back at him, and Brian, and our dear Deacy, and nod. "Of course I can certainly try."

As I take a breath to continue, fitting into my head the sort of alternate history we may be including, I feel a strong grasp on my wrist with long fingers. Our empathetic Brian has blinked tears from his eyes and looks at me with such appreciation and thankfulness it puts a lump in my throat. "Thanks for... not making fun," he nearly whispers to me, to all three of us. "I - dunno why this affects me so strongly."

"I do, it's because you have a truly gigantic heart, and you cannot bear even the thought of others' pain, no matter if it's occurred today or long ago," I say to him, voice catching. This sweet man, so good and kind he feels for those from past ages, in a story he's being told. It's remarkable. 

I press his hand and hear John mutter to Rog we don't want to tell Bri what happened to the animals in the west, like the bison. Roger nods vehemently and speaks up loudly "Well then, let's keep on hearing this. I've got to patch Bri up because he's shot currently after saving my arse, yeah?" 

My eyes don't leave Brian as I reply in the affirmative to Roger, and I feel my dear guitarist flex his hand and flip it over as he intertwines his fingers with mine, giving them a squeeze. "Thank you, Fred," he mouths to me with gratitude in his eyes. For my attempt at comfort, I suppose. I really haven't done much, but he seems to be amenable to hearing more of the story, as he nods with his face open, those hazel eyes large and limpid as he swallows and says "Go on, then, Freddie, I'm - we're all listening. Right?" He says this last to Roger and John, who've started whispering about something. They come back to us, though, and Roger nods sharply as John flashes that adorable gap between his teeth. 

"We are, right. Go ahead, Freddie." I feel so lucky to have these sweet faces watching me, listening to something that surely could be strange, as I describe in detail the house the two western men duck into, following their hasty retreat from the Texas Ranger.

"They're waved into this particular place by way of a dainty handkerchief waved out of a window."

"Aha," Roger perks up. "It's gotta be a girl offering to help, innit? This is my kind of bit in the story, I suppose I'm to thank her, then?" 

I smile a secret sort of smile as I begin to sketch my idea for the next scene. "It'll be quite a to-do for you to show you're thankful, Roger dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a bit of historical angst herein, I swear I wanted to write a lighthearted funny story, and then the angst train had other plans. Freddie's going to be doing some thinking about himself too. 
> 
> I'll try not to go all that dark in this one, it's currently all my history classes talking.
> 
> Reactions appreciated <3


	4. I Wish I Could Be...

_The pair press up against a heavy wooden doorpost, breathing heavily. Threepenny glances over at his companion only to see the other man's crisp white sleeve is stained bright red. 'Shit, mate, you're bleeding -'_

_May looks at his arm, head turning to the side, bushy curls falling over his face as he studies his shoulder with what appears to be mild interest. 'Oh.'_

_'OH?! What the BLOODY hell -!'_

_'it is, yes, just different from what I've always imagined,' he sounds surprised, and Twa is beside himself._

_'You've imagined being shot at!'_

_'Well, yes,' those sweet hazel eyes blink almost innocently, as though answering a hypothetical question. 'I think it's only natural and logical to wonder, me being out here with rangers and gunslingers and -'_

_'Oh bugger your logic, I'm getting your arse inside!' the blond thumps his fist on the door, blotting blood from his own cheek and hearing movement clattering down stairs behind. He has the presence of mind and politeness enough to speak up 'Hullo, sorry to bother, but we could use some medicine, me mate Aster has a death wish -'_

***

"Hang on, what did you call him, Rog?"

"What?" Roger shrugs and glances up at us, holding his cigarette between two fingers and taking a drink, waving his glass round expansively. "Said the Hopi called him Star Face or whatever, and Aster means star." His eyes narrow as we continue to gaze at him, I with a curl of my lips in proud appreciation, but our irascible boy doesn't take the silence as impressed and snaps "I know Latin, did actually receive a bio degree, you tossers."

"Right, right, Rog." Brian's face goes gentle as John's crinkles. "Who's allowed us into their house then, Freddie?"

***

_The door is tugged open and a voice says 'Come in quickly, darlings'. The purr accompanies dark hair, half fluffed and curled above ears, skin the sort of shade that could get one characterised as a worker here, bucked teeth and fluttering hands in a ruffling, ridiculously flowing garment worn by certain ladies of the night -_

***

"A beautiful set off on that golden-brown skin it is, too," interjects Roger, "I can see it, Fred, you've got rich taffeta -"

"And your eyes are so deep and gentle and worried for us," Brian adds. "The dress swoops perfectly, like a - a pillow, almost, and it swishes as you turn to gather up er - whatever passes for an Old West first-aid kit. You're wearing a sort of cranberry colour, white ruffles,"

"Gorgeous," John whispers. I flush at all their praises, to this tosser in a story. It's me, but really, how I see myself versus the way they see me... and how they knew I was speaking of myself instantly.... My lips tremble a bit as I lift one hand, tears prickling at my eyes as I clear my throat. 

"Well that's quite a dramatic entrance," I toss off, attempt to tease. "How on Earth shall our dearest John appear after something as grand as all that?"

I see us then, in my mind's eye, me holding out medicinal tools as Roger slips Brian's shirt away from his pale shoulder, those deft calloused hands moving quickly to retrieve the bullet and clean the wound, Brian, or rather Aster, growing a bit shaky at last from shock, and leaning into both Twa and me, or rather this mysterious and fabulous being, self-assured and inviting. I must think of an excellent apropos name. 

But they all look up at me, my boys, and in their faces are surety and belief that "I've got no doubts about anything you come up with, Fred."

"You conceive it, it'll be fantastic!"

And "I'm sure you'll do me much more justice than I've actually got, Freddie," John's quiet voice speaks in his always self-deprecating way, and I burst out warmly

"Oh darling, you're more perfect than I can describe!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Freddie, always so hard on himself in life from what I've learned. Luckily his boys are here to shower him with affection :)
> 
> I'm ending this piece for now. I plan to figure out a way to introduce John, but as it is for this challenge I think I've gotten to an ending. Of course, if you'd like to read more I'm not averse to continuing, just leave a comment and let me know <3
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and long live the memory of Freddie Mercury


End file.
